


...And Be My Friend

by Flutiebear



Series: Walk Beside Me [6]
Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Angst, Angst With An Ever So Slightly Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Development, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Hurts So Good, I Almost Died But Then I Got Better, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Protectiveness, Snowed In, Sort of? - Freeform, also, so enjoy that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 09:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20863748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutiebear/pseuds/Flutiebear
Summary: "I warned him." Your voice is taut with anger. "'Don't fall asleep in the Snaerfelt.' That's what I told him. You heard me tell him that." Serena nods. "But did he listen? No. Of course not. Now look at him. He fell asleep and now he—now he might—"When Terran collapses in the Hekswood, it's up to Erik to carry him to safety. Takes place during Act 1, with significant Act 2 spoilers.





	...And Be My Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BACK, BABY /Bender voice. Sorry for the long delay between fics. Life... has been a lot, lately. 
> 
> Anyway, this story takes place during Act 1, in between when Hendrik disappears and when you set out for the Royal Library. There are MASSIVE spoilers for Erik's Act 2 personal quest, however. So don't read if you haven't gotten that far.
> 
> ADDITIONAL SPOILER FYI: There are some slight, hopefully *very* subtle references to one of the possible Act III endings. If you don't know what that ending involves, then I'm pretty sure you won't spot them. Still, committed, spoiler-free purists might want to sit this one out.

After the witch vanishes, Hendrik picks up the medal and—leaves. Just like that. No grand speeches. No threats of arrest. The jerk doesn't even rustle up a halfway decent glower. He just nabs his beat-up trinket, whatever it might be, and books it like he's got crabids in his boots.

It's almost too good to be true, you think. And in fact, you turn to Terran to make that exact same observation—

Just in time to see him collapse.

Now, you've seen Terran fall dozens—no, _hundreds_ of times. He's gotten the shit kicked out of him in battle; he's taken countless spills off rotten logs and moss-slick stone. While out riding, he's eaten dirt more times than you can count. Then, of course, there was that one particularly memorable leap the two of you took together, with wind in your ears and blades at your back, and wide open sky ahead of you. 

This is different, however. Terran just… _drops, _like a puppet with cut strings. He's down before you can even register what has happened.

Heart clenching, you race to his side.

Jade gets there first.

"He's freezing cold!" She presses the back of her hand to his cheek, but he doesn't stir. His lips are blue. Sweet Yggdrasil above, his lips are _blue. _"That spell must have really taken its toll!"

No.

_No._

This can't be happening. You got here in time. _You_ saved _him_, for once; and that means Terran's supposed to be okay. He's supposed to be _safe. _

Veronica points toward the tree line. "We passed a hut on the way here," she says tightly. "Let's carry him there!"

"His armor." Your voice is a growl, something barely human. Something inside of you is already baying at the moon. "Gotta get it off. Before he freezes."

While you tear at the straps of Terran's pauldrons, Sylvando says, not unkindly, "Honey, there's no time—"

"Metal," you cut him off. "Ice. _Bad_." 

Thankfully, instead of wasting more time, Sylv sees the wisdom of your words—or at least understands that he won't be able to convince you otherwise—so he kneels next to you and gets to work. That seems to convince the rest of your companions, and together, the six of you peel off Terran's armor, piece by piece.

Giving up on the straps, you take out your trusty knife and slice through the swollen, frosted-over knots. You shimmy Terran's shoulders free, doing your best to ignore how the freezing armor sucks greedily at your bare fingertips; then you pillow Terran's head on your knees and gently—_gently—_pry off that ridiculous Drasilian helmet of his.

At your touch, he moans.

Your heart thrashes against your ribcage. For the better part of a year, you've ached to hear him make just that sound at your touch. But not like this. For Yggdrasil's sake, _not like this._

You throw the helmet away.

When all his armor is gone, you gather the wet and clammy Terran into your arms, only staggering a little under the weight. Though he's in just his undertunic and breeches, Terran's not even shivering. He's not moving a muscle. You can't—_won't—_let yourself worry about that right now.

Rab gestures to the ruined armor. "An' what should we do wi' this mess?"

"Leave it." You strike out in the direction in which Veronica had pointed. As you walk, Terran's cheek lolls against your neck, an absurd facsimile of intimacy. 

"But he'll be needing his armor—"

_"Leave it,_" you roar, and you don't look back.

In your arms, Terran is heavy, limp. Lifele—_Unconscious_, you correct yourself. Just unconscious. That's all. He's out cold, and nothing more.

But it's hard to make yourself really believe that, because Terran's skin is as slick as a glacier and his hair has curled into icicles, and he's still not shivering, dammit; he's still not making his own body heat. That's a problem. You adjust your grip, bringing him even nearer, as fear crawls up your throat.

As a general rule, you don't feel the cold. You feel _his _cold, however; it creeps under your skin in searching dendrites and fractalizes around your heart.

"Stupid bastard," you mutter.

The walk to the cabin is the longest of your life. You can't hear or feel Terran breathe, but every now and then he lets out a broken little gasp, so that must mean _something, _or so you hope. At each noise he makes, you cling to him a little tighter, as if you were the one being carried. Maybe, in a way, you are.

You think about the last time you carried him like this, when you fished him out of the drink and dragged him to the riverside church in Heliodor. He was lighter then, maybe. But you had barely noticed the weight; you could have carried him to Puerto Valor and back, you were so exhilarated with freedom, with _hope_. You'd had no doubt he'd wake up, because everything in your life had been leading to this. That's how much you'd believed in the Luminary. You'd believed in him with all your heart.

You still do.

Except, well… your heart isn't really yours anymore, is it?

As you trudge through the snow, you talk to Terran, just as you did back then. Mostly you just whisper nonsense in his ear, stuff about sombai and sailboats and Hotto saunas; but then it occurs to you that you might make a more convincing argument for his survival by reminding him of all the things he has yet to do. He still has to rebuild Dundrasil, you inform him, and he still has to visit all the many islands of Erdrea. He still has to play the high roller tables in Puerto Valor. He still has to get vengeance for his mother. He still has to show you the top of the Tor.

"You still have to meet _her_," you murmur, even now aware that he doesn't know who _her _is, and at this rate, he never will.

Your pace picks up.

Eventually, you make it to the cabin. With one foot, you kick open the door; the ancient lock explodes off its hinge, clattering onto the floorboards. 

Whoever owns the place isn't here, but the interior is still warm. That's a small stroke of fate. As you set Terran down on the bed, you have the brief, terrible thought that if you're too rough with him, he might shatter; you used to think the same thing when Mia was an infant and you'd lay her down to sleep.

Well, now she's a statue and he's an icicle, so your track record isn't all that great. Maybe it would be better for everybody if you weren't in the picture at all.

You're brushing the hair away from Terran's eyes when Veronica shoves you aside. "Move it."

"Hey!" you protest.

But she's not listening. Instead, she's bending over Terran, worry etched onto her deceptively cherubic cheeks. Hands fluttering against his cheeks, his forehead, she says, "He's breathing. Barely."

That ought to be a relief. But all it does is make you want to fall to your knees and breathe more air into his lungs, more, _more,_ to make yourself into a human bellows to stoke Terran's feeble flame back to life.

"He's too cold," she continues. "We have to get him warm."

"Blankets," you say. "He needs blankets." Numbly, you cast your gaze around the cabin. You see shapes, maybe, but your brain isn't registering them. Your eyes can only see Terran, _your_ _partner,_ prone and pale and still as a statue.

"He's _laying _on blankets, you nit."

"Oh." As you move to tuck him under the comforter, however, Jade waves you away.

"I can handle this," she says. 

Stumbling backward, you knock into Serena, who is in the midst of a healing prayer. She loses her cadence; the spell dissipates. A frown flits over her usually serene expression.

"Sorry," you mumble.

She resumes her prayer, as Rab joins her with a healing spell of his own, while Jade rubs warmth back into Terran's hands and feet. In the corner, Sylvando is using his fire-breathing skill to stoke the coals in a rustic, stone fireplace.

Watching them, your hands dangle uselessly at your sides. You feel small, fragile; like you're trapped in a hurricane out on the open sea, with the eyewall closing in on all sides. You can't outrun it. You can't escape it. You can only hope not to drown.

"If you're going to stand around lollygagging," snaps Veronica, pushing past you again, "would you _please_ mind at least getting out of the way?"

You hop out of her path as she ambles back to Terran's side as fast as her short legs will carry her. In her hand, Veronica ignites a flame no bigger than a coin. She brings it close to Terran's cheeks. His white skin turns to gold.

_…help me, Erik…_

That's it. You can't stay here another second.

"I'm going to go check on the horse," you say.

Nobody acknowledges you, and maybe that's for the best, too, because you're only in their way, and that means you're also in Terran's way, because right now he needs them more than he needs you.

As you stumble out of the cottage, you are hit with a wintry blast of air that you cannot even feel, because your heart has frozen over, because your veins run full with ice. Because all the good parts of you are stretched out on that bed, fighting for survival; and all that's left might as well be an empty impression half-buried in the snow.

**

You don't know how long you've been standing outside, staring at nothing, when the cottage door opens.

You don't turn around. Maybe you've forgotten how. Maybe you're just a statue now, an ice sculpture just like all the other Sniflheimers. Why should you be the only one to escape your fate?

"Is Lulubelle alright?" asks Serena.

Blinking, you startle back to awareness. "Huh?"

"The horse." She hesitates. "You said you'd come outside to check on her?"

"Oh." Truth be told, you'd never had any intention of ringing the summoning bell. You're not sure where Lulubelle goes when she's not with you, but whatever kind of magical horsey haven it is, it's bound to be better than being trapped in this wasteland with you, waiting for her master to turn into an iceberg. "She's fine."

"That's a relief." Another pause. You hear her audibly shudder. "Goodness, but it is rather cold out here, isn't it?"

You offer a noncommittal shrug. "Go back inside. Get warm."

"I shall. In a moment." There's the sound of creaking floorboards, and silken slippers crunching in the snow.

Serena comes to stand beside you. She examines your face, then follows your gaze out to the dark and shadowy line of trees. "I don't see any monsters out there, do you?"

You shrug again.

"I suppose we're safe, then."

"Hmmph." _Safe_. Now there's a laugh. Nobody's ever really safe with _you_ around, are they?

After a moment, Serena lays a hand on your crossed arms. Her fingers are warm, gentle. Comforting. Briefly, you spare a thought for how ludicrous this moment is: how men the world over would be falling over themselves to have Serena touch them as she's touching you right now—and if you liked girls at all, you might be one of them, too.

But you don't, and you're not, and Terran's in there unable to touch anybody because he's too busy dying, and so you have to restrain yourself from shaking off her gentleness, no matter how well-intentioned it might be.

"He's resting now." Serena's voice strums through you. "We've managed to stop the chill from spreading any farther."

Closing your eyes, you sigh in equal parts relief and anxiety. "Is—is he—"

"I don’t know," she replies. "I've never seen anything like it. Veronica thinks it could be the same spell that turned the villagers to ice. Normally Terran has a high resistance to physiological magic, but—" She shakes her head. "I suppose all we can do now is let him rest and keep him stable as best we can."

In your travels with Serena, you've noticed she has this _way_ about her; she can disarm a man as deftly as you can, but without landing a single blow. You don't even realize she's done it to you, too, until you open your mouth and start to speak.

"I warned him." Your voice is taut with anger. "'Don't fall asleep in the Snaerfelt.' That's what I told him. You heard me tell him that." Serena nods. "But did he listen? _No_. Of course not. Now look at him. He fell asleep and now he—now he might—" You can’t even finish the thought; you just impotently flap your hand behind you.

"He won't die, Erik. I won't allow it."

"That's not really up to you," you snarl. You’re a rabid dog now, foaming at the mouth, snapping at anything that moves.

But Serena doesn’t even flinch. "You’re right. It’s up to Veronica. We must place our trust in her."

“Veronica?” You scoff. “What’s she going to do, _argue_ away the frostbite?”

“She has fire spells," she reminds you, "which are a sound recourse against the chill, wouldn't you say? My, but I do wish I had a few of them myself right now." She hugs her arms to her chest.

"Don’t we all." You would set this whole damn world ablaze if it would make Terran open his damn eyes already.

"We're all worried about him. But Terran is in excellent hands," Serena assures you. "My sister won't let any more harm come to him. She cares for him very deeply. I imagine we _all_ do," she adds, apropos of nothing.

You hear what she's saying, and you choose not to acknowledge it. You don't really have the mental capacity right now to deflect any of your friends' insinuating asides. "Stupid bastard," you growl.

She frowns. "Pardon?"

"Look at him. He's always getting himself thrown off cliffs, or attacked by dragons, or eaten by evil paintings. Now he's freezing to death." You shake your head. "Some legendary hero _he_ is."

Her hand drifts to her mouth. "Erik!"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought it, too, Serena. Terran's as squishy as a heal slime. If it wasn't for us, he'd have bit the dust a long time ago." Your hand comes to rest on the dagger at your hip. It was so much easier, you think, when it was just you and your knife against the world. It was so much easier not to care. "So, yeah. He's a stupid bastard. And I guess that makes me one, too, for sticking with him all this way. Stupid bastards, each and every one of us." You shake your head. "Who knew the World Tree would give us a Luminary who was so damn _breakable?_"

"Well," says Serena, "I did."

With a scoff, you finally look at her.

"Our Elder was rather clear about it," she insists. "Why else should Veronica and I have been given the holy duty to protect the Luminary, except that he should be in need of our protection?"

You open your mouth, then close it again. You're not really sure how to argue against that.

And she seems to know it. She smiles softly. "Erik, the Luminary is our last, best hope. Hope can be very powerful, but it is also very fragile. The slightest wind can snuff out a flame. It takes all of us working together to keep Terran's light from going out."

"But it's stupid," you grumble. "It's just so damn _stupid. _Why would Yggdrasil bother with making heroes, or humans, or anything at all, just to have them fall apart?"

"I don't know." Serena turns her gaze out toward the trees again, above which rise the distant canyon walls, towering like prison walls, menacing, inescapable. "It _would_ be ever so much easier if we were instead made of stone, I suppose."

"I didn't say _that,_" you mutter.

She doesn't appear to have heard you. "But we aren't. Instead, Yggdrasil makes us in the image of Her leaves: each of us small and fragile, but numerous enough to blanket the sky."

"For whatever good _that_ does any of us."

Serena squints at the low-lying clouds, through which the distant light of Yggdrasil is hard to spot. "I should think it does a great deal of good, Erik. Terran is, as you say, 'squishy'. We all are. As such, we have to rely on one another to be our strength when our own fails us." She puts a finger to her lips, considering her own words. "If we _were _all made of stone, then we would have no need of friends or family, would we? Life would be ever so much more lonely."

"Maybe it would be better that way."

Her brow crinkles in confusion. "Better? For whom?"

You don't really have an answer to that, either.

Ever since you came to Sniflheim, you've held Terran at arm's length—everybody, really, but him most of all. You were terrified he'd find out too much about you, about your sister; that he'd realize what a coward you _really _are and what a mistake he made in trusting you. But Serena's words make you think that, maybe, just maybe, you didn't have the right read on the situation at all.

Lifting your eyes to the spot in the sky where Yggdrasil's light still feebly gleams, you swear right here, right now, that if Terran makes it through this, you'll never push him away again. You'll grab onto that precious hand of his—metaphorically speaking, of course—and this time, you won't let go.

"I'm tired." The words escape you in a sigh. Tired of what, you don't clarify. But now that your anger is gone, you're left with only exhaustion; you're toppling over with the urge to curl up next to Terran and join him in slumber.

"Me too," says Serena. "And hungry. I wish I had a cake right now."

Despite yourself, you chuckle. Trust Serena to always bring it back to sweets. "Maybe Sylv has something in his pack you could have."

"Oh, no. He doesn't," she says with such assurance that your eyebrow quirks. "I might have already checked," she explains.

"Already eaten them, more like." 

She shrugs, neither confirming nor denying. "I could have sworn we'd purchased an extra box, the last time we visited Gondolia." She smiles. "You will come with us next time, won't you? I know you hate the town, and for understandable reasons; but truly it is a marvelous little place, once you get to know it. Maybe you and Gondolia just got off on the wrong foot."

"Maybe," you accede, if it'll stop her from talking more about the worst place in Erdrea.

"Good! It's settled then. When all this nonsense with the witch is through, you're coming with us to Gondolia."

"What? I didn't say that—"

"Nonsense." Her eyes twinkle. "In fact, I know of just the shop for you."

"Oh?" You smirk. "What's it sell, knives? Poisons?"

She shakes her head. "Pomades."

You stare at her. Then you laugh. You laugh, and laugh. Yggdrasil above, it hurts to do so, but you do it anyway, if only to remind yourself that you still can, and that soon, Terran will be laughing, too. And you think to yourself that Serena's healing skills truly are the stuff of legend.

"It's a deal," you tell her.

**

Days later, Terran wakes.

You aren't there for it. Serena and Veronica are, however, and after a brief conversation between them and Terran and the inhabitant of the cabin, a rheumy-eyed scholar named Snorri, you're once more off, this time to the Royal Library. You don't even have a chance to tell Terran you're glad he didn't die.

You don't get to say much to him at all, in fact; not through the ride across the Snaerfelt; nor through the many battles with rampaging wildlife. You don't even get to catch up you break camp for the night: Terran spends most of the evening chatting with Snorri, in between being fussed over by every companion in turn.

Not you, though.

You sit on the outskirts of camp, your back to the rest of them. You're not pulling away, you tell yourself. Terran has enough people up in his business right now; he doesn't need you crowding him, too. (No matter how much you might want to.) A man needs his space.

So that's what you give him: His space. Resting your head against your pack, you stare up the stars and sight constellations, until the pinpricks of light blur together and your eyes begin to droop.

"There you are," says Terran eventually.

You blink awake.

Terran is kneeling next to you, the light from the campfire dancing in his eyes and warming his skin. He's beautiful, so beautiful, even more so because he is _alive_; the mere sight of him makes hope swell in your chest like land spotted across the prow of a ship. "Hey."

He sits back on his haunches. "Did I wake you?"

"No, no." Sitting up, you drag a hand over your face. "Just resting my eyes." 

He smiles at you. The firelight gives his expression a sleepy, tender quality that makes you think back to that morning back in Phnom Nonh, when you woke up to the exquisite press of his body draped across yours. Sometimes you think you dreamed that day. Right now, you're just tired enough to want to reach across the distance between you and see if you can't dream that dream again.

You ball your hands into fists instead.

"Sorry," he says. "I just didn't know where you were. You should come to bed, though. Everyone else is already asleep."

To hear Terran entreat you to bed—so casually, as if it were nothing—it _does _things to you; it always has. You lay back down on your pack. "I'm fine where I am."

"Aren't you cold?"

"Cold doesn't bother me."

He snorts. "Lucky bastard."

You offer him a half-hearted smile.

You want to tell him so many things, things like _I'm glad you're alive _and_ I have a sister _and_ I'll spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll only let me. _Instead, you say, "You should go get some rest, man. You're still recovering."

"I guess." He doesn't move to get up, however. Instead, he leans back on his palms and looks up at the sky. "First, though, I wanted to thank you."

You snort. "Thank me? For what?"

"Veronica told me about what you did."

"I didn't do anything."

"She said you carried me across the Hekswood yourself. Alhough," he chuckles, "her actual words were, 'hauled your arse like a sack of potatoes.'"

"You _were _kind of heavy," you say, cheeks burning slightly.

He smiles. "All the more reason to thank you."

You clear your throat. "No need. I was just the packhorse. Veronica was the one who actually nursed you back to life, not me. Her, and Jade, and Rab, and everybody else." With a heavy sigh, you pick up one of the laces of your tunic and let it fall through your fingertips. "I really didn't do much of anything."

"That's not true. You got me out of my armor, for starters. And you, um," Terran stumbles ever so slightly over the words, "kept me warm until we got to Snorri's cottage. Without all that, I wouldn't have made it. You saved my life."

"Oh." Your cheeks are really on fire now. "That's good, I guess."

Terran nods. "It was. For me, at least."

Your throat feels thick. "Well. You know me. I've always got your back."

"Same. Partners?"

Terran holds out his fist expectantly. For a moment, you look at him blankly, unsure of what he's asking for. Then, with a smile, you tap your fist to his. "Partners," you say.

The corner of Terran's mouth does a funny little scrunch: like he's thinking of a good joke, but for some reason it makes him kind of sad. You wish you knew what it meant.

"Something on your mind?" you ask.

"Nothing. I guess I was just thinking—" He makes the scrunchy face again. "How lucky I am. To have… friends. I didn't, for a long time."

"You had Gemma, didn't you?"

"Yes, but…" Terran sighs. "I always sort of got the impression she wanted something else from me, you know? Something, um, _more_."

You give him a wry look. "From what I heard, you gave her plenty."

Terran blushes. "Uh, maybe a little," he fumbles. "But I was young, and we were the only two kids our age in Cobblestone. I didn't really have anybody else. Beggars can't be choosers." He draws his knees to his chest, then wraps his arms around them. "It doesn't matter, I guess. She's gone now. They all are."

You ache for him, and, oddly, Gemma, too. You don't know why. It's not like you ever had any friends, either.

"And now I'm surrounded by all new friends," he glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, then looks away, "and this new family that I didn't even know I had. That's a good thing, of course. But…"

"But?" you prompt.

"I don't know. It feels so fragile."

"I get that." You think about what Serena said. "It isn't, though. Strength in numbers, and all that."

"I guess. But I guess—that's just it. Everybody always wants to protect me. They always work so hard at being strong on my behalf. Everybody," he turns toward you, a soft smirk on his lips, "except you."

You scoff. "Hey, I just carried you across a fucking tundra, _partner_." 

"That's not what I mean." Still looking at you, he rests his head on his arms. "It's different. _You're_ different. And I want you to know that I'm thankful for that, too."

You swallow, pulse suddenly pounding.

"Different… how?" You pillow your head on one hand and stare up at the sky and pretend that his answer doesn't have the power to utterly destroy you.

He considers the question for so long that your heart stops beating and your breath escapes you and you become convinced that this is how you will die, murdered by breathless anticipation.

"It's like," he says eventually, "Everybody else is trying to walk in front of me and show me the way; or behind me, in the hopes I'll lead them some place better." He looks at you, fireflight flickering in his eyes like candles, like hope. "But you—you walk beside me, Erik. Nothing more, nothing less."

You flush. "I see."

"Could you, maybe," he swallows, "keep doing that?"

You nod. "I think I can manage that."

"Thanks." He lays down next to you. Neither of you speaks for a long moment.

Then you feel the touch of his fingers, just as you're reaching out with your own. You didn't even have to ask. You just knew. That's how in sync the two of you are.

Your fingers lace together, each finding and filling the empty spaces. There's no urgency in the gesture, no command or request. Just a simple acknowledgement of each other's presence; of two people coming together in the dark.

And you think to yourself how thankful you are for him, for this; for the fact that yours and Terran's Leaves grew on the same Branch. Sometimes it really does feel like you were _meant_ to be here, at this time and in this place, with him.

_Together_.

"Terran?"

"Yes?"

"You gotta promise me something, too."

"Anything," is his immediate reply. 

"You—gotta… _keep_ letting me walk beside you." You rub your thumb in a slow circle against his. "Don't leave me behind. Don't go where I can't go, too."

"I promise," Terran says quietly.

"Good. I'll hold you to that." You clear your throat. "The Seer told me to stick with you, after all."

Terran's voice is low, thick. "Is that the only reason?"

"No," you admit. His hand tightens around yours. You squeeze back. "We're partners, aren't we? Until the end of the road. And anyway, you'd get into a lot of trouble without me. _Clearly_."

"I get into a lot of trouble _with_ you, too."

"Yeah, but then I'm there to haul your ass out again."

"Good point." Terran smiles softly. "Guess we'd better stick together then."

"We'd better."

You fall into comfortable silence, letting your cares and worries ease away. Despite yourself, you find yourself slowly, inexorably falling back to sleep. You could get used to this, you think before you lose consciousness completely. You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. But you could.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are wondering, the series name, "Walk Beside Me" actually comes from this quote, often mis-attributed to philosopher Albert Camus (who Erik is named for, in the Japanese version of DQXI): 
> 
> "Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead.  
Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow.  
Just walk beside me, and be my friend."
> 
> Thanks to the DQ Discord folks. Without y'all, I never would have gotten the kick in the pants I needed to start writing these assholes again. <3


End file.
